29 December 2008
22 December 2008
19 December 2008
18 December 2008
In October the sun was shining on the Zandvoort beach. It makes for extra good staring at the waves, digging your bare feet into the sand. Now the October autumn has wintered. Not quite as much as it did in the old days when everything was much better, but still: I've been out on my bicycle with icy dew in my hair this week. And because Dutch autumns usually last until a few rare, cold wintery days in February I now shut out the grey, turn up the heat under my cauldron, grab my apron and my wooden spoon and bubble myself a nice little autumn soup. Beautifully orange and wonderfully hearty.
Pumpkin soup! Dice a couple of garlic cloves, an onion and a small, round pumpkin (including the nice pieces of orange skin). Take organic ingredients for more taste. Gently fry the onions and the garlic in olive oil or ghee. Then fry the pumpkin along for a while. Add a couple of bay leaves, freshly ground black pepper, a stock cube (mushroom stock is nice in autumn) and a glass of white wine (Make it good wine, beacause you shouldn't cook with wine you wouldn't drink). Add water until the pumpkin is almost covered (Better to add extra water later than to boil thin soup). Simmer for 20 minutes or untill the pumpkin has gone soft. Take out the bay leaves, puree briefly and serve with a spoonful of sour cream, fresh parsly, a handful of roasted pumpkin seeds and extra salt and pepper if desired. Great with crusty bread with melted cheese or bruschetta from the oven.
Eat. Enjoy. Love.
15 December 2008
I get off track every now and then. When the ball bounces off course unexpectedly and I stumble over my paws - way too large, allowing for growth- looking around frantically to see where it went. Or when I run right underneath it and get it on the nose. Or when it suddenly comes to a halt. I'll look at it, bark at it furiously and lick it with all my might. And then, when I nudge it along until it starts rolling again and gains speed, I'll suddenly be exhausted. I'll lie down on the spot and sleep. Deeply. Trustingly. Then my wet nose and soft ears won't have to do a thing.
I've been back from Vlieland for weeks. It was great. But that's nothing new: it always is. A lot has happened since, but that's nothing new either. It always does. Forget about rolling along calmly and evenly. It's all or nothing. Skipping along and gathering speed untill it all just has to come to a complete standstill.
And there, in that stillness, I dream of rolling along quietly. Calmly and softly. You can see my paws twitching rhythmically in my sleep.
27 October 2008
26 October 2008
I was fumbling with my bicycle outside our office building. I pulled the plastic cover off the saddle and shook off the rain. I was trying to find out if all those tiny drops of water on the transparent plastic were on the inside or the outside. I was wearing gloves so I touched it with my lips. Behind me someone said: "Isn't this fine rain?" For a brief moment I wondered how she knew I was thinking about that, but then it occurred to me she could never have gathered that from the fact I was standig next to my bike with the saddle cover in my mouth. It was a woman from our office, she was new. She smiled and said: "I always think this is such friendly rain." She turned and walked away underneath the chestnut trees.
Second man: Yeah. But at least Iceland as a country can't go bankrupt, because they have football players abroad.
1 October 2008
30 September 2008
As the working week starts on monday morning and everyone returns to their computers, assembly lines or conference tables, throwing quick glances at the clock that is yet to tick away all the working hours of the week, what does the forest do? Isn't it secretly sleeping late? Are all the trees at the ready? Are they standing by to house spiders and silently bend over the forest trails? Are they dropping chestnuts?
I went out to check early this monday morning, and all was in perfect order. In the misty morning hours the forest was just as it should be. Trees, mist, wet sand, fragrant moss, mushrooms.
I wish I could be getting up for the crack and the dawn every monday morning.
24 September 2008
23 September 2008
16 January 2008, 09.42: Hurray, hurray! I am proud of you. Hurray, hurray! We’ll have to celebrate this. Hurray, hurray! A kiss and a hug. Hurray, hurray! M.
20 February 2008, 14.05: Looking sharp, girl!
2 April 2008, 10.13: Du bist meine himmelsterne superschatsen. Schlaf gut. Der M.
14 juni 2008, 00.03: Happy birthday, cutie!
Music comes floating along like the ribbon of scent in a cartoon. I stick my nose in the air and before I know it, a trail of sensation flows into my head and all I can do is follow: drooling and tripping over my own dog’s paws. Music that curls itself around my senses and hooks on to something. Not fastening it, but vibrating along. Vibrating to exactly what was already there and then taking me to another place. Not somewhere else. To the same spot, but then more. Like an extra piece of reality unfolding.
17 July 2008, 12.11: We‘re resting today with our books and a bag of delicious, unhealthy fruit flavoured toffee in our lazy chairs underneath very tall, rustling poplars with the sunshine flickering through the leaves. Good luck at work. Big kiss T.
24 July 2008, 08.51: 1900! So I can go to Image sales. Have alrdy gt terrain tckts btw.
02 August 2008, 02.22: Hadahelluvagoodtime! Toodles.
And then there’s the dancing in the dark, when no one can see me. There’s something about Mogwai’s sound. Every tone seems to come from a different vocabulary than other guitar sound.
5 August 2008, 13.20: Hey Beauty. Are we still on for the cinema tonight? Kiss.
11 August 2008, 19.03: Hello! Are we still on for a movie after work tomorrow? Should be fun. See you tomorrow... M x
29 August 2008, 21.48: Fucking psycho's, these Chinese. They start giggling when you only look at them or want to sleep with you straight away. I’m in a club now and they are all playing dice.
The music builds up gently, flowing into my brain. I bob and roll and before I realise it, with my feet deep, deep in the asphalt, I am heaving in a wall of sound built up so slowly and still so in sync with the flow in my head that I hadn’t noticed it had swelled so. And then there’s this wall of sound tumbling over me, whirling and spreading. An avalanche of motion in my mind, and then suddenly, deep inside, something opens up.
3 September 2008, 16.44: Will call you after work.
4 September 2008, 09.38: I think I’ll come by between the meeting and my activity. Are you interested in a dried frog? I’ll bring it along.
I look straight at something true. Something making me an inextricable part of that huge, cool, dark tent where the sound has swelled so that nothing else exists. I am the farthest reaches of the music and the music fills every last part of the universe.
4 September 2008, 16.21: Ah. Jolly good to have an unexpected cuppa.
A breeze makes my legs go all goosepimply. Music runs down to the same careful sounds of the beginning. I open my eyes. It surprises me how tangible things look and how they are both very near and infinitely far.
14 September 2008, 13.18: I love you.
Tent, lights, stage, crowd. They’re all solid and dry. And very weightless. Very understandable. Like paper. Tears run down my face.
23 August 2008
It rained on sunday. The water calmly fell straight down. A geometrical pattern of silvery grey against a backdrop of green silence. Thick drops made the bamboo leaves jump up and down. Small flashes of light bounced off them. The bamboo stood straight up in the rain and with a hundred small, green fingers played the piano in the air.
I was lying on the sofa with a rare kind of contentment and felt the damp air just outside the window. I just lay there and read my book. And every now and then I watched the bamboo concert for a while.
13 August 2008
Somehow, that changes when you get older. I still laugh out loud at jokes or walk around with a smile that has something to do with a general feeling of wellbeing, but actually rolling around laughing is a rare thing nowadays.
But then I started working at the office where colleague M. works. Him and I can laugh so hard it never seems to stop. I have no clue why, and our colleagues often throw us looks as if we've gone bonkers. And maybe we have. Most of the time we just laugh about a stupid face or a remark the others never caught. And once we've started, the laughter itself is so contageous it only gets worse. The other day I remarked - quite sincerely - that I had never consciously experienced the date of 30th July. Colleague M. choked, started wheezing and squeeking and by the time his eyes were watering, I had a tummy ache from laughing too. And could he please stop because my make-up was runing and I couldn't breathe.
In the end, the reason for laughing doesn't matter. It just feels so bloody good it'll get you through at least another week. That's why I've made a schedule of the days I'd like to work with colleague M. So I'm guaranteed to get that shot of endorphine regularly. It should get me through winter unscathed.